


The Heart Is A Wolf

by Hidden_Desires



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Brother/Sister Incest, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Cousin Incest, Cunnilingus, Dark Jon Snow, Dark Robb Stark, Dreams, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feral Behavior, Feral Robb, Incest, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Multi, Nightmares, Out of Character, Post-War, Protective Robb Stark, Rebirth, Resurrection, Robb Is Resurrected, Sansa-centric, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Some plot with porn, Tags May Change, Threesome - F/M/M, Yes I Dreamed Up A Way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-11-12 15:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18013163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hidden_Desires/pseuds/Hidden_Desires
Summary: The Wars have ended. Jon and Sansa are King and Queen in the North and Winterfell has risen from its ashes. Winter has finally ended. Spring has come and with it an entity to awaken the deadened hearts of the living as a resurrected Robb emerges from the Wolfswood to rescue Sansa from peril.Sansa discovers Robb has come back an altered, dangerous man with dark desires and an intense obsession for his sister. She, in turn, experiences a forbidden awakening of her own as she is inexplicably drawn to her estranged brother in ways she cannot resist. Her illicit passion also enables her to see her husband in a whole new light.Jon is not immune to the upheaval the eldest Stark brings as he struggles with the realization of Robb's rightful claim to King In The North and Winterfell. Deeper than the political ramifications of his brother-turned-cousin's presence is the unexpected unearthing of the buried feelings he bears for Sansa which he is forced to confront as he observes his wife growing closer to her brother.I finally have a Tumblr under the name:  hidden-desires-here





	1. Introduction

Rain.

It is rain that pelts the window. Cold rain but it is rain all the same. It startles her out of sleep as if it were the clashing of swords or the screams of the dying or the rumblings of the dead beating down the barricades of Winterfell.

Sansa sits up in bed, clutching the furs up to her chin and glances at the darkened window before staring into the low flames of the fire in the hearth before her. She should feel something other than dread in the pit of her stomach. The Long Night was truly over. Snow has now given way to rain. Winter has now given way to Spring. The hints of the thaw has been occurring for months now and the destitution and near-starvation they all had experienced has given way to the promise of better days.

Yet the nights for her were growing steadily worse.

She could not remember the last time she slept soundly through the night. Perhaps it was before Father agreed to become King Robert's Hand so long ago, a time Sansa remembered only in waves, hazes, fragments. Every night was the same. Restless, jerking awake and feeling breathless, lost, desperate, with a small pinch of fear piercing her breast.

A warm hand reached up to gingerly touch her shoulder. It is the slightest of pressures but the calming nature bears weight down through the white linen of her shift and she exhales slowly. 

"A bad dream?" The groggy voice inquires kindly with a hint of worry. 

Sansa grips the furs modestly as she turns her head to stare down at Jon. His dark curls are a mess framing his face and his eyes seem more black than grey in the firelight. His lips turn up in a sympathetic smile and she smiles back in empty reassurance. He is a calming force to her now and his protectiveness is sweet balm to her past wounds. 

"No. It is nothing. Let us sleep."

She keeps her tone soft and it is all it takes to reassure him. He is easily placated while only half-awake and as he pulls her back down to his chest, she rests her head there and sighs, bringing the furs up around her cheek. His heart is slow, methodical, while hers is racing madly as if it is determined to leap out of her chest.

It is not nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I am late to update but here goes.

Sansa idly swirled her spoon in the bowl of soup - the usual dinner fare - and kept her eyes focused on the ripples it made in the thin broth. Her other hand rested on top of a ill-baked piece of bread but as usual, her appetite was nonexistent. 

Especially listening to Jon and Tormund.

She had grown fond of the red-haired Wildling and did not mind his visits from beyond the Wall - or, rather, what was left of the Wall. One visit north of Winterfell was enough for her and was mostly just for ceremony. As Queen In The North, it had been expected of her. Just as all of the other duties she performed on a daily basis. Such as sitting placidly listening to the King In The North become as loud and gruff as his Giantsbane friend.

Only where Tormund expressed genuine mirth and a jovial side, Jon's returning banter was hollow. Forced. Yet it seemed only she could see through the facade and she did not need to even raise her eyes to detect it. It was Jon but not Jon. A hollow shell of the man he once was, beaten and broken by the wars, sitting as King In The North out of obligation and necessity, not for want. Never want. He had not wanted the Iron Throne. He did not even want Winterfell, and she knew he had not wanted her. Perhaps it was selfish what she had done, backing him in a corner like she had, appealing to his sense of honor and devotion to his family. But with Arya in the South with Gendry she had no qualms about keeping what remained of her family here in Winterfell, where he belonged. Did he not once dream of becoming Lord of Winterfell? Was his dream not now realized, only even better now that he was King In The North? Indeed it was not a marriage of love but more of circumstance and protection. Sansa would rather be the wife of her polite cousin than of a tyrant or sadistic brute, and it was this plea of security and safety to Jon that seemed to make him relent. She knew he was a mere mask of a man but the mask was more appealing than the faces of Joffrey, Ramsay, or Baelish, or many others who had used or abused her for their own means.

He had not taken her on their wedding night, nor any night thereafter, and Sansa was only too relieved at not having to submit and was thankful she did not have to remove her shift and bare herself to him. The scars were deep, not just upon her skin but over her heart and in her mind and although she gave no voice to it, Jon had recognized it and absolved her of any obligations. Or maybe it was still ingrained in them to see each other as brother and sister. Whatever the reasons, Sansa allowed herself the comfort and warmth of his body up against hers at night and his arms held her protectively yet hesitantly and she found herself loving him for it. The bed intended for relations to bring forth children was instead their comfort to discuss the day and what tomorrow would bring before falling into restless sleep. She truly basked in the gentle wave of peacefulness that overtook her just before she slipped away into her web of dreams. Dreams that seemed a jumble of nightmares of the past interwoven with some strange unseen being looming in the mists -

During her waking hours she felt nothing except the cold reality of the long days.

"Sansa, did you hear me?" Jon's voice was low and clipped; she raised her eyes and managed a small smile from across the table. It was as vacant as Jon's eyes. "I believe Tormund's desire to court Ser Brienne is the only reason he comes here."

"Aye, the big woman wears down." Tormunds brows raised. "Not much longer and she will see me for the man I am."

"I believe Brienne is handling the rounds of check-ins with the guards, if you mean to look for her." Sansa's eyes wandered around the nearly empty Great Hall. She remembers a time when the Hall was always filled with people and laughter but it is a distant memory, like everything else.

"I came to also speak with my friend." Tormund slammed a hand on Jon's back and the smaller man lurched forward. "Castle Black is finally done. We Wildlings are quick of limbs -"

"I apologize, I think I am going to retire, thank you." Sansa rose gracefully while Jon and Tormund clumsily stood and nodded in a short bow. It was something for Tormund to do so and she lowered her head in acknowledgement before turning away, leaving the Great Hall and not looking back.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

"Your Grace, are you sure a ride this late in the evening is advisable? "

Porick was saddling up her horse as he asked and avoided her gaze. Such a handsome young man with a winsome smile and deep brown eyes. Brienne had taken him under her wing as a mentor and almost as a son she would never bear and Sansa had liked him immediately. There were not too many men she trusted in this world but Podrick was one of them. It was sweet to have so much concern over her safety but one does not question the request of a queen for her horse to be readied.

"I have my fur cloak and gloves on, Ser Podrick, and the winds are not as bad as all that. I will not be gone long. It is a lovely evening and I wish to ride. His Grace is detained with Tormund Giantsbane and I feel my presence is not necessary there."

"It is not the weather I fear, your Grace. It will grow dark soon. It's unseemly for the Queen In The North to not have anyone attending her."

"I appreciate your concern, but I am not entirely without protection." She swept aside her cloak to reveal Arya's dagger strapped to her side. "If a wild beast happens upon me I know how to use this. It is the Wolfswood. The most I shall encounter is a badger or elk. A bear hasn't been spotted since before the wars."

"Aye, and if a bear got you I'd have to answer to His Grace, and that is something I would rather not do." 

His awkward smile was endearing but coupled with his words was proof of how Jon was perceived nowadays. Sansa tried not to think of it as she mounted her horse and thanked Podrick.

As much as she loved her home, the castle seemed to overwhelm her and the Godswood was somewhere she rarely visited anymore since her wedding day. She had no use to pray to the Old Gods or The New because so many of her prayers had been ignored or made a mockery of. Instead of her marriage vows she always thought of Robb when she passed by or through the Godswood. How many times she had prayed for Robb to rescue her or for him to live, only for her to be saved by Baelish and sold into a worse fate, and Robb to die? Too many to count, too many to remember. 

Sansa urged her horse into the Wolfswood. She disliked riding as a young girl but now it was her way to escape the hardships and responsibilities that always awaited her in Winterfell. She wanted to do right by the North, be a strong equal with Jon in governing, but when she slipped deep into this forest it seemed as if all the horror and sadness she had experienced melted away, leaving only the memories of her girlhood. It didn't matter that she rarely had ventured this far beyond the Godswood when she was young. For some reason she felt it; her family, her brothers. It was as if just beyond a few row of trees they were watching over her and guiding her horse on some trusted path. It was easy to keep going, to take in the beauty of the woods and all it encased. It was her time to reflect and her chance to experience some beauty left in the world. Once, the loveliness of face and body was what had mattered to her and she had been a fool. With her wan complexion, dull eyes, thin frame and scars barely concealed, she looked for beauty elsewhere and found this more fulfilling.

Even so, her heart still felt leaden and she never felt truly at peace. She never experienced a passion for anything and had forgotten how to laugh. Everything she and her family had been through had not made her bitter but it made her wary, tired, and numb.

She coughed a little when a slight breeze floated by. The air was turning cooler and she was glad for the idea of furred gloves and her heavy cloak over a simple blue wool dress. With appreciation she observed the start of green on the ground and from the branches. Soon there would be more vegetation able to grow besides what little they had in the greenhouse. Animals would multiply, providing more food options. Streams were flowing, it would be easier to fish. She remembers Jory taking Bran and Robb out here to fish, but she never joined them. That was a boy thing, and she was a lady who was more interested in sewing and learning her graces. Her mouth twitched in a near smile at the memory of praising Robb when he returned with the biggest fish, proud that he had done so well, and she had clapped her approval until he moved closer with his prize, sending her running back to the castle, wrinkled nose and all.

Sansa halted her horse and closed her eyes, wavering a little.

Robb had been her knight, her prince, her warrior and expert fisher and hunter. He danced with her and complimented her on her embroidery and hugged her while the snow fell, fell fell all around them. The last time she had seen him it was snowing and she strained to recall how he felt so warm against her when he held her close to day goodbye. It seemed so long ago but here, here in the stillness and solitude she could almost feel him as if it were only yesterday. It was as if he was here with her, a part of her, and she could sense him, all of him. _Robb_.

She was startled out of her trance by a voice cutting through the quiet.

"So what do we have here, do I see a noble woman?" The broken slur pierced the air and Sansa's eyes flew open. A man seemed to come out of nowhere and Sansa realized how deep in the Wolfswood she truly was. She had traveled further than she ever has been and she stared dumbly down at the figure.

How long had she been sitting on her horse with her eyes closed?

The man was in ill-fitted clothes and looked half-starved but a sword was strapped to his waist. The sky had grown a shade or two darker and the moon was starting to peek out from dense fog and seemed to cast an almost sinister sheen on the man's balding head. He grinned and had few teeth.

Sansa remained silent even as her heart sped up. Instinctively she turned her horse in the other direction, even though it would place her even deeper in the woods, and kicked the mare in the sides to spur her into a trot. Before the pace could be picked up, three men jumped in front of her and the horse, startled, reared. She managed to stay in the saddle by a stroke of luck but it mattered not when two of the men grabbed the reigns, while the third rushed over to the side and the one man who had spoken to her came from behind. Hands grappled her from all directions and she flailed, trying to fend them off, all to no avail as they dragged her off of her horse. 

"It will do no good to scream. No one here but us!" The men started laughing. Four of them. There were four. Sansa tried to kick, bite, anything, but she knew attempting escape was futile. 

"So little lady, did you come with any gold? I don't see any gold." One of the men was facing her and his hand shot out to grab her neck while one held her fast to him. The other two were feeling underneath the saddle, presumably for hidden treasures. Anything to steal or eat.

"Aye, no gold here. We got a horse though. And there's gold of another kind between her legs."

"You're pretty enough. Pretty red hair. Like me daughter's." The man in front of her leered, looking at her up and down in a way that just ensured him a death sentence from Jon. He pulled out a knife, letting it glean before pressing the blade into her throat. She wanted to cry as memories flashed through her head, feeling it through her entire body, the pain, the blood trickling, the tip just enough to inflict pain and scar but not enough to maim, not enough to kill -

"Please, I - I will do whatever you want," she whispered. "All I ask is that you let me go when you're done." A small thread of defiance entered her mind. _I've been forced before, I've been cut and humiliated and violated and degraded. I can survive this. I've survived it before_. But there were four of them. And they didn't know who she was. They could kill her. "I am Sansa Stark. Queen In the North. Let me go and I shall spare your lives -"

"And I'm the King In The North!" One of the men by the horse skipped over to his friend, chuckling."I see no Stark seal on your horse's leather. No fine dressings befitting a Queen. But I'll play the King and I will fuck the Queen. Make you scream I'm your King."

The other men laughed and Sansa struggled to remain slack, compliant.

"I will - I will do as you command. I ask you do not kill me." She hoped for a small chance, just one chance. If they relented their hold on her she could make a run for it. Maybe she couldn't be as fast as Arya but it was worth a try. "Please." 

"Nah." The man holding the knife to her. "You seen us now. Maybe once we're done we will sell you. Red haired whores are worth a bit. Got to break you in for what's in store. Don't we, men?"

Before she could say anything she was thrown down onto the damp and muddy ground. The man holding the knife jumped on top of her and she screamed then, receiving a sharp blow to the head for that. It hurt but it was nothing compared to the grappling of dirty hands on her skirts. He had her pinned but her arm was able to reach her waist and she grabbed her dagger, wasting no time to drive it into the man's side. It was sharp enough to easily jam all the way in to the hilt. His screams and curses were music to her ears but it didn't last as she received a slap to the face, hard enough to push her head back into the ground. The man injured must have fallen by the side but it didn't matter when the man who had taunted her about Jon took his place, only violently turning her over onto her stomach and ripping her skirts apart, pressing his disgusting body down on hers.

"You little bitch! You're going to pay for that with your arse!" There was nothing she could do now but wait as he ripped off her small clothes. Wait. Wait for the old familiar pain to rush over her, only now she would die - she would die - she had survived all she suffered only to be raped and killed while on a leisure ride in the woods. Her nails dug into the muddied ground still wet from last night's rain. It felt cool under her fingernails and she focused on the sensation. The rain had fallen so mercilessly against the window pane while she lay in Jon's arms and entered into dreams of longing and mystery -

The unmistakable sound of a sword slicing a head swished by her ears and suddenly the man on top of her was no longer moving. Her temples were throbbing but she managed to turn a little and open her eyes to see the head rolling to a stop on the muddy ground. Another head. She had seen so many roll. There was screaming and the sound of men being slaughtered. She knew. She knew the sounds of war and bloodshed and death. It had come now as judge, jury, and executioner.

"J - Jon?" She muttered it out, feeling as if her head was stuffed with flannel but turning to see, wanting to see. It was only moments but all four men were dead and she she focused enough to see the last one fall to the ground. The attack and been so swift there was no chance for her would-be assailants to scream. Hazily she tried to pull her tattered skirts down for modesty but she felt dizzy, weak. 

A figure approached, head and face swathed in cloth, rags, a scarf - bending down to scoop her up. Strong arms, confident arms holding her tight - oh a lady remembers her courtesies, even when she is hurt and ashamed and shocked, and she means to say thank you as she tries to fling her arms around his neck. She stops, her breath catching and holding.

Eyes. Blue eyes, as stark blue as her own. She could never forget those eyes. 

"Robb?"

His name felt strange on her tongue, and then the two spheres of the deepest blue faded to the darkest black.


	3. Chapter 3

_They had come back jubilant but Sansa frowned as her nimble hands worked faster on the vines, twisting and knotting skillfully. Her indignation and having been so forgotten was greater than the knowledge that she was sitting on the ground like a serving wench, her skirts muddied and her free-flowing hair already mussed from their game with a bundle of jumbled weeds in her lap. She didn't even bother to look up but she heard them approaching, whooping and laughing as they reached her_.

" _My Princess, we have foraged afar to bring you dinner." Robb exaggerated a bow while Jon swung their quarry in front of him_.

" _Oh, are we still playing Knights And Dragons? I thought it was done when you and Jon went running into the Wolfswood." She shrugged with a hint of the promise to tattle in her voice."It is bad enough we played this far away from the castle without you two trotting off after those poor rabbits." She finally raised her head and pouted at them_.

 _Jon hung his head. He was so easily chastised by her and at least he knew his place as their father's bastard. Robb looked crestfallen for a moment but then grinned and cocked his eyebrow_.

" _What is that? There, in your lap, my Princess_ ?"

" _Crowns. Three of them. You were gone so long I had time alone to make three. And what if there was a bear, or a scary monster in the Godswood that came after me? I would be all alone and eaten! You are not a very protective knight, you know." She stood clutching the crowns, a little wobbly, not her usual graceful self. She had been sitting cross-legged for so long they felt shaky_.

" _We're sorry, Sansa, I mean Princess. Will you forgive us?" Robb's voice was soft as was his eyes. They twinkled like the clear rivers or the stars in the sky. Immediately Sansa's ire drifted away_.

" _I don't want to be the Princess anymore. I want to be a Queen." It was easy to slip back into their role playing and Sansa loved to be the center of attention. "And I made us crowns." She handed the smaller one with tiny flower buds."You can crown me Queen_."

 _Most brothers would scoff or make fun of her or maybe even tell her she is being a stupid girl playing stupid games. Not Robb. Robb as always was her gallant prince and he did as she bid, taking the crown and placing it slowly on her head. It was slow and gentle but oh, her head started hurting as if it were made of thorns. She tried to ignore the feeling and giggled a little as both Jon and Robb knelt in front of her. Jon dropped the game to the ground; their prize was left in the dust. Forgotten_.

" _My Queen," the chimed in unison. Sansa giggled_.

" _A Queen needs a King, does she not? Robb -" She noticed the beaming grin of her brother and the disappointed look on her bastard half-brother - "Will you be my King_ ?"

 _Robb's mess of red waves bent for her makeshift crown and she placed it on his head firmly. His smile warmed her hear but she gripped the other crown and stepped over to Jon_.

" _Jon, will you be my King_ ?"

" _I - I cannot be your King, my - my Queen." Something like pain flashed in his dark grey eyes. "I am a bast - uh, I am a Dragon. The Dragon cannot be a King. You already have King Robb_ -"

" _Yes, you are a Dragon but you can also be my King. As Queen I command it. I am a Queen with two Kings_." 

_With a flourish she laid the last crown on Jon's dark head. Her own head, it ached. She tried to smile but her cheek hurt, why did it hurt? The two boys were staring up at her, Jon's face full of reverence and hope under his perfectly fitted crown. Robb's face blurred before her eyes and she felt dizzy as she reached out to touch him. All she could see was his eyes. They no longer sparkled but darkened to orbs of pitch black. His crown fell apart and she tried to catch it as it fell but it disappeared before it reached her fingertips_ -

Startled, Sansa's eye popped open and she tried to sit up, aware of her aching head and jawline; both throbbed and her fingertips tingled. Hazily she focused on her fingernails, so filthy and crusted with dirt. It was dark and hard to see with only the moonlight shining into the - the - what was this, exactly?

She was in some sort of enclosure; a small and almost cave-like awning, only it looked like it was molded out of the ground and not rock. For a moment she sat listening for noises but there was naught to he heard aside from a distant hooting of an owl. Her thoughts were jumbled but they came back to her. She went riding too far into the Wolfswood, so caught up in the feeling of it all that she lost track of time. Men - very bad men - tried to rob her and force themselves on her. She tried - tried to fight - she stabbed one of them, then -

Sansa staggered to her feet, her hands roaming over her bodice down to her waist. The dagger was missing. Also from the feel underneath her gown, her smallclothes were also gone. A shudder crept up her spine. They had been ripped off of her. Torn away, but there was no ache or pain inside of her, no leavings. No, she had been saved. A man killed them. A man swathed in rags. Dirty, powerful, a swordsman -

Shuffling out of the enclosure while touching the side for leverage, she stepped out into the open cautiously, wincing at the soreness of her limbs. For a moment she thought she was alone and lost and it terrified her. She has never been lost before. Empty, yes, and always searching for something she could never truly find, but never lost. The moonlight glimmered through the trees in the dark and she shivered a little underneath her cloak. For the first time she felt like crying but it had been so long she wasn't quite sure if she even could.

A horse softly whickering drew her attention and she turned right of the enclave, only to step back a few paces and hold her breath. Her horse had been tethered to a tree beside the hideaway, but just behind the mare ran a small river. It wasn't the still waters that surprised her bleary eyes, but the figure standing before it, so immobile she wasn't sure if he was real or maybe she was still dreaming. She was sure the man could hear her but he held his stance. Feet slightly apart, his arms in front of him grasping the hilt of his sword, the blade's tip piercing the ground. He was poorly dressed in a common man's simple shirt and breeches with no cloak to ward off the night's chill and his boots were well-worn. She could see his hands were wrapped in the same torn pieces of cloth he wore as his head scarf. The broad shoulders and tall, muscled build did not waver and he did not turn to greet her. Was he the man who saved her? She recalled strong arms carrying her away but then there was nothing. His face -

"I - I thank you for saving me, Ser." From the looks of him her was no Ser, but she did not know how to address him. "Your bravery shall be rewarded, once my husband has been notified. I - I am Sansa Stark,the Queen In The North, and my husband is Jon Snow, the King In The North. We are in your debit -"

Sansa stopped and swallowed as she heard a low, throaty growl. For a moment she looked around before realizing it came from the man. Confused, her head throbbed but she redoubled her effort.

"May I ask if you know the way to Winterfell? I fear I am lost. I know I have been missed by now. I need to make haste to home -" She realized she wasn't cautious out of fear but rather uncertainty as she started to advance towards him. He did not move, not one inch as she closed the distance with her heart in her throat. Surely he was not here to harm her. After all, he saved her from harm and she doubted he only did it to rape her himself, or he would have done so already.

Sansa stopped within arm's reach, clutching her cloak closer. He was even more staid than any of the Kingsguard keep watch at their posts. She could now see a slight movement from breathing and a flexing of his bicep as she cleared her throat to speak again. The scent of him wafted over to her thanks to the wind and she found it not distasteful. From the looks of him she would think he would smell like the used privy. Instead her head suddenly sharpened and her senses seemed less dull while a feeling of familiarity washed over her. 

"Can you speak? Do you understand me?" Her voice was soft without an edge to it, as if she were soothing an upset child. "Are you as lost as I am?"

Without thinking, she reached out to touch his arm to entreat him to face her, and before she could realize her foolishness he indeed turned slightly to the left in her direction but grabbed her wrist so quickly she did not even see the movement. The grip was not merciless but it was tight; yet still she was not afraid. His touch tingled her skin where he laid his fingers and it sent a confusing sensation up her arm...and flush down to the center of her being. The unexpected feeling, along with his other hand yanking his sword out of the ground and the more menacing sounding growl from underneath the scarf, startled her. But her shock was nothing compared to the darkness of his eyes when he looked at her.

Sansa wrenched free and stumbled before hearing horses' hoofs, many of them, and she pivoted and ran, ran as fast as she could no matter how sore she felt in the direction of the horses. She sprinted as if she were being chased by wolves, and indeed she could hear him close behind her. Screaming for help as loud as she could, she was rewarded with a familiar voice shouting her name.

"Jon! Jon - please!" She expected to feel complete relief when Jon came into view on his black steed with several of their Kingsguard in tow. Dressed in black with his equally dark hair loose and framing his face, he was only recognizable by the streams of moonlight. Her chest felt tight and a sense of dread overwhelmed her instead, even as he dismounted to catch her up in his arms. 

"Sansa! Thanks to the Gods that you are safe. Are you -"

She was pushed almost violently to the ground and could only watch as Jon drew his blade and swords clashed, with Jon nearly being knocked on his arse by the sudden blow. Jon let out a frustrated shout before righting himself and the guards dismounted as well and drew their swords. Five. Five guards and Jon against one man. She knew now why the man had grabbed her and had drawn his sword from the ground; he had heard Jon and his search party before she had. He was preparing to protect her...again.

"Jon! Jon, please, don't! Stop!" She watched in horror as the man was surrounded. Six against one. He had fought four and killed them all. What would be two more? "He rescued me! Please, Jon!"

It was enough for Jon to relent but either the man did not understand or he did not care as he still fought with the skill of ten men. Sansa gripped her aching head and all she could do was watch as two guards fell. 

"Yield!" Jon shouted at the man, stumbling back with the powerful blow of swords. "Yield and your life will be spared -" 

Sansa saw it then. The sword move. _A jaunty twirl, toss and stab; twirl and toss_ , yes, that's what Robb had called it. Named it his signature move, one he had showed off to her plenty of times after he perfected it. _Look at this, sweet sister, I can kill an enemy behind me and then bring my sword forth to another before they know what struck them. I can be the finest swordsman to protect my fair princess now, can I not_ ? She had clapped and praised him -

"Robb! Robb, please!" She screamed it out in a half-cry as she rose, gathering her skirts and not truly knowing what she was about to do.

Jon turned to her in confusion and the man had already killed the guard behind him but halted in mid-air before he could complete the death blow against Jon. Sansa ran towards him but it was too late as one of the last two guards took advantage to stab his sword into his back. Sansa screamed as the man went down to his knees and she dropped down beside him, throwing her body and cloak over top of him as he fell to the ground onto his back.

"No! No, no!" She clawed at his scarf with her dirt-caked fingers. She had to see him. He could not fight her even if he tried. She pulled off his cloth coverings and gasped, her eyes filling with tears. His shaggy beard surrounded a full, sensual mouth laid slightly open as he breathed low and shallow. He looked up at her, his eyes the deepest shade of blue underneath a mess of dirty auburn curls. "Robb!" Wildly she leaned down to kiss his forehead, his cheek, sought to cradle his head in her hands.

She dimly heard more horses, murmured voices. Hands grabbed her arms, not unkindly but unwelcome all the same. They tore her away from him and she kicked, screamed, commanding them to release her. It was Jon that sought to calm her, to place his hands on either side of her face and tell her over and over and over that it isn't Robb, Robb is gone, Robb has been gone. His tone was fraught with worry and she knew he must think her mad. She glanced over at Robb, he was still moving, he was still alive, and she begged for his life even as Jon held her and she clung to the strips of cloth in her hands. Her head felt as if it would burst and a wave of nausea flooded her, and suddenly the trees were spinning, and for the second time that night, she drifted into a sea of darkness. 

She awakened to the sound of a creaking chair and found herself lying in bed with Jon sitting in a vigil next to her, holding her hand. When she turned her head towards him he brought her hand to his lips and smiled gently. The action was so tender she managed a small smile in return, even though it hurt from the hits she had endured.

In her other hand she was still gripping the cloth remnants that had shielded her brother's face from the world.


	4. Chapter 4

_"Do you hear them?" Robb stared out into the distance, seemingly through the trees of the Godswood. He stood still, breathing in the night air as she pouted, sitting on a log near the hotsprings. It was cold out, and she didn't understand why Robb decided to drag her out of bed in the middle of the night to listen to something she couldn't even detect_.

" _I hear nothing but the sound of my own yawning," she retorted, drawing her furs close. Even though she was warming by the hotsprings, she inexplicably shivered as she glared up at Robb. He seemed so commanding from her view, towering and strong with his broad shoulders squared, his cloak nearly touching the ground and his auburn hair shining in the moonlight. It distracted her from her sleepiness and the excitement she has felt knowing she would be leaving for King's Landing with father in the morning. Off to the Red Keep, off to her golden prince and her dream coming true of becoming a queen and having princes and princesses with the same golden hair as her husband. But as she looked at him, a pang hit her heart and she swallowed_.

" _Listen closer." He pulled her to her feet and she wavered, but his arms caught her and held her close. She never felt him so strong before. He was a man now; and for a moment she felt dizzy with the realization and she allowed to breathe in his familiar scent. Joffrey slipped away and she suddenly wanted to stay here in Winterfell. Yet Jon was leaving for the Wall and Robb would be acting in Father's stead as Lord of Winterfell. She could not hold on to their childish games anymore even if she would stay_ -

 _She hears it then, the howling in the distance. Faint as it was, it stirred something low in her belly, something she could not understand_.

" _Grey Wolf and Lady," he whispered."Lady does not want to leave her brothers." She hears the tone in his voice. So soft and pleading_.

 _It overwhelms her then and her thrill over her departure dissolves into a desire to stay and she cries. She wants her golden dream but she wants this; she always took everything for granted and her everything was fading away. Somehow, Robb is kissing away the tears from her cheeks and it is less comforting than something else as her skin tingles under his warm lips and little sparks of feeling touch her elsewhere, lower_ -

 _He whispers her name and it sounds so different on his tongue, it overpowers her and she shrinks against it but leans into it all the same, and he feels like a stranger but she doesn't mind when his lips find hers, the cool air forgotten, changing into a in explicable drowning heat, and he is still muttering her name, a desperate plea, begging, entreating, pulling her, luring her_ -

" _Sansa_."

Her eyes fluttered open, her head throbbing, her lips still tingling from the touch as her mind comes down from the dream, yet she hears the voice of the brother she had loved and lost calling to her -

" _Sansa_."

"Um." She sits up and for a disoriented moment expects to see Robb by her bed but it is Jeyne Poole. Timid, gentle Jeyne. Her best friend from so long ago, now a former shell of her giggly, air-headed self. Years of abuse in brothels had destroyed her spirit as well as her mind and looks, but Sansa would always remember her as she was and took pity on her when they reunited. Jeyne would not stay in Winterfell unless she was of some use, so Sansa had made her the Queen In The North's maidservant. None would touch her or take from her unless they wanted a slow and painful death on orders from the Queen, so at least Sansa was able to offer her tortured friend some semblance of a life of peace.

If only she could do the same.

Jeyne's brown eyes widened in worry and she nervously clawed at her long, dark hair. No matter what misery that had befallen her in previous times, her hair remained her one claim to beauty while her eyes remained shadowed forever and her thin body broken and scarred.

"Your Grace?" Her voice was thin. "Are you well?"

"Where is Jon?" Sansa licked her lips as her head cleared a little. The sensation of warm lips pressing on hers was fading and she wanted to savor the remnants as long as she could. "It is night, and he is not in bed."

"He - His Grace commanded I watch over you. He has taken up in one of the guest solars, so that you may rest and recover undisturbed." The frail girl bowed her head. "I could fetch him -"

"No, that is not necessary." A little bit of longing and ire crept into her as she smoothed down her wild auburn tresses. She has grown accustomed to his warming presence in their bed; for all his gloominess and brooding he was an odd comfort to her. She enjoyed their conversations and he would actually listen to her when they would snuggle up against each other, rather than bicker with her over decisions during the day. That he would think she would rather be alone than have his soothing embrace was an insult. Did he not know her at all, even after becoming her husband?

" _Sansa_."

She closed her eyes.

"Your Grace?"

"Shhh!" Sansa held up a shaking hand. "Did you _hear_ him?"

"Hear what, my -"

"Robb!" Her eyes flew open and she glared at her friend-turned-servant. "Do you hear him?"

"Robb?" Jeyne's brows furrowed. "Robb who?"

"Robb, my brother, you empty-headed ninny! Who else? Don't look so confused. I know you had eyes for him back when we were young, you even confessed it to me! Is he here? Did Jon have the guards bring him into Winterfell? He's - is he here?"  
Jeyne took a step back, shaking her head, a thin hand flying to the neck of her simple dark grey gown, clutching at the shiny direwolf sigil pin worn by all of the servants.

"Maybe - maybe you should lie down, I will fetch the King -"

Sansa leaped from the bed and ignored the room spinning as she grabbed a spindly arm.

"I am only asking once more. Where is he?"

" I - I don't -" A fast crack of palm against cheek changed Jeyne's mind as she squealed a little in shock. " You mean the prisoner? The - the prisoner was brought in and left in the dungeons to await trial!" 

"Trial? For what?" Sansa's eyes narrowed. Later, later she might feel guilty for slapping Jeyne and make it up to her by ordering a new dress or giving her leave for the day, but now she wanted answers. "Why is Robb in the dungeons? He should be given his old solar, a bath, a fine meal -"

"For kidnapping and violating the Queen! For killing members of the Kingsguard! It - it is all over the castle, what has happened! The King - the King wanted to run him through, but Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick convinced him a trial is fair -"  
Sansa's body waxed cold as she threw Jeyne from her. The poor woman stumbled and fell to the floor in a sobbing mess but she could not let herself take the time to feel pity.

"You will say nothing of this, do you understand? You will leave and report to the King that I am sleeping peacefully and I am not to be disturbed. If you betray me, I swear to you your time in Baelish's brothels will be nothing compared to what your punishment will be."

"Y-yes, Your Grace." Jeyne raised her eyes to look upon her warily as if she were insane before dropping them to the floor.  
Without her usually graceful movements, Sansa hurried out of her solar, noticing the guards with their backs to her down the short hall, so she turned and quietly padded the other way down the corridor. Thankfully when Winterfell was reconstructed from the damage suffered from the White Walkers, she had added secret entryways leading down below to the crypts and the dungeons, so she did not have to pass the guards at the other end of the hallway. Stealthily she slipped into an empty solar - a guest room - and made her way over to the closeted area, where a large panel held a door behind it. The crude steps were dark and there was no lighting so Sansa had to slowly make her way down into the dark, feeling along the stone walls and cringing at the wisps of cobwebs and brushing off spiders that seemed to be crawling everywhere. Through the webbing she could feel the hotsprings warming the walls and moisture clung to her fingertips. 

A young Sansa would have screamed and cried over the unsavory conditions but this Sansa was determined. Her bare feet slid smoothly against the steps and she cared not to think of what she might be stepping on. She regretted not grabbing her slippers and wrapper, and maybe a candle, but it was too late now and she needed to know. She needed to see.  
The Winterfell dungeons were rarely used; there was not much in the way of criminals these days. Usually offenders were dealt with swiftly and fairly and there was no need to hold them. Sansa did not say but she was sure Jon knew that she was squeamish of holding anyone down here, regardless of their supposed crime. It was where Ramsay kept Theon Greyjoy to torture and main him and break him and Sansa could not bear to think of it. She only visited the dungeons once since its reconstruction, and that was only on her way after visiting the crypts. The crypts where so many of her loved ones lay. She had commissioned the finest statue for Robb in his memory, as his body was never returned, nor his head. It took months and several different artists to create his likeness; even then, Sansa was not satisfied -

The steps grew narrow until Sansa reached the last stone, bumping up against a small door. Frantically she felt for the door handle and pushed open cautiously, the creaking giving her away if any guards would happen to be hanging around. She knew at night the guards usually lounged beyond the cells guarding the main doors to the captivity rooms, which were locked shut from the outside.

The torches from the walls were dimly lit and she slowly made her way past the "interrogation" area (with her eyes closed, she did not want to imagine Theon and Ramsay). She couldn't help but wrinkle her nose a little at them smell, even as she had ordered the guards and servants to keep the area humane. Two of the massive guard dogs lay where a copy of keys hung crudely on a nail in the wall and they lifted their heads to look at her and whined as she leaned over to pat their heads before retrieving the keys from its place. She never cared for guard dogs and even dreaded them since Ramsay; but they knew her and posed no actual threat. 

There was no noise emitting from any of the holdings as she carefully peered into each one, her stomach tightening at every glance while she clutched the keys hard against her chest. The metal seemed to burn through her thin white shift and lay heavy over her heart. Empty, empty empty...

The rattling of chains reached her ears as she approached the last holding and her breath caught. For a moment she hesitated. She had no reason to be scared. She knew with all of her heart that it was Robb, truly Robb, and there should be no fear. What was there to fear, except that if it was Robb, then how is it that he lived? By all accounts he was beheaded, his body desecrated with Grey Wolf's head sewn in place. Arya had confirmed what she had seen with The Hound when they had reunited. Even after the years of knowing the details of his death, her heart was slashed opened once again and the wounds bled fresh. It was like losing him all over again as she listened to her sister's account -

Robb.

She gasped inadvertently as she peered into the last cell.

Her whole body felt alive, tingling in relief and despair.

He was sitting up against the stone floor in the semi-darkness, his hands behind his back, head hung down until he heard her. His head snapped upward and his mouth opened as if to speak and she could not see his eyes due to the lighting. His hair hung tousled and matted and his clothes were the same as she remembered, only now spattered with blood and dirt and opened to the waist. His boots were gone, leaving his feet bare to shift in the scattered hay that no doubt was meant to be his bed. There was no bedding. A small pot sat about two feet from him and from the smell wafting she surmised it was his privy. He had not been bathed and she wondered angrily if he had even been fed.

The Starks were better than this. Or, they once were better than this.

"Robb? It's me, Sansa." She shifted uneasily while one hand reached out to clutch at a bar of the cell. "I - I know it is you. I've come to set you free."

Not quite sure what she was doing, Sansa trembled as she slid the key in the latch, freeing the lock to slowly swing the door open. It creaked in protest and she paused to make sure the guards did not hear it; the dungeon was soundproof because no one wanted to hear the screams of the interrogated but she wasn't certain of it.

She slipped inside and shut the door only because she needed something to lean up against for support. Her knees were starting to knock and her heart began to race. It was just Robb, just Robb, just Robb, her mind tried to calm her. He won't hurt you.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she whispered, trying to gather her courage. "I only want to help." She pushed herself away from the door to hobble towards him across the dirty stone floor. It felt warm and moist under her feet and sweat started to form across her forehead. Of course. The hot springs ran closer to the dungeons than above them.

She closed the distance between them but halted with her heart in her mouth when he struggled to his feet, walking forward as far as the chains behind him allowed. It wasn't much and he stopped about two paces in front of her. She could smell him, the sweat and dried blood and grime, but through it she could breathe in another scent, a distinct scent from so long ago but still so fresh in her senses. Bravely she moved to where she could reach out and touch his cheek and she did so impulsively while staring into the depths of his dark blue eyes. 

"I am going to release you," she whispered brokenly, even though the words seemed to come from somewhere else. The feel of his warm bearded cheek and the look in his eyes was her confirmation. "Robb -"

His breath was warm on her face, not a pleasant smell but somehow the feel was all she needed to abandon caution and fling her arms around him, to bury her face into his chest, nuzzling the hair there. She couldn't help but sob shamelessly, she who was always so composed and poised when facing her people, now wept into her brother's sweaty, blood-crusted chest. Her hands clung to his shirt, and dimly she heard the clanking of the keys as she dropped them thoughtlessly to the floor. 

"Robb, Robb, you've come home," she choked."You saved me, you're home." She felt him bow his head down into the crook of her neck, the only way he could possibly reciprocate. The feeling of his nose against the back of her neck and his breath hot on her skin sent a shiver down her spine as he pressed into her. She reveled in the contact even as she sensed a confused reaction from them both; his lips pressed into her neck and she felt it straight between her legs. Her hands clutched even harder to his clothing and instead of pulling away she pushed further into him.

"You're alive," she gasped, her head swimming. "You're alive -"

Her gasping turned into a shocked moan as she felt his teeth sinking into her neck, the suction of his lips and the laving of his tongue. She was molten, shocked, aroused, frightened; she should move away but her body felt immobile. Memories of being bitten in cruelty faded as this was something new and she opened her mouth to protest but it fell by the wayside when his mouth worked faster, furiously biting and licking up her neck until his head nudged hers to tilt upwards; then without knowing how it came about his mouth was over hers, devouring her, kissing her with such ferocity she could only weakly submit while her hands grappled up to his hair, winding fingers in the dirty ratty mess.

Sansa could feel him then, hard against her. It inflamed and frightened her at the same time but she could not deny a darker, almost violent awakening in her. He bit her lip, wolf-like; he was more a wolf than a man as she heard him growl low into her mouth. He was not Robb; he was not that sweet brother she had known. He was more animal than a man. His kiss from long ago in the Godswood had been soft, shy; this man was taking from her as he wanted and it was overpowering. Having never experienced a woman's lust before she nearly collapsed from the sensation of it. Dainty, feminine, always proper Sansa Stark, becoming wet and throbbing between her legs from her own captive-in-chains, dirty, feral-like brother.

She tasted rust between them and she broke away weakly, moving away from him with what little resolve she could muster and he lunged for her, straining the chains to their limit. She noticed his neck straining in the firelight of the torches and the fire in his eyes, his sensual lips wet from their combined saliva. Carefully she licked the blood from her lip and he made a deep groaning noise, something to quicken her blood even more. She tried to avoid his eyes as she bent down to pick up the keys, hoping he wouldn't notice how badly she shook. She swallowed to regain her breath.

"I am going to unchain you now. You are the Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell and do not deserve to be in chains. I -" she struggled for words, faltering. "I trust you, Robb."

It was all she could do to step behind him and work the key into the lock. She noticed the raw, bleeding skin around the cuffs and made a mental note that it would be taken care of. The shackles fell with a loud clank against the floor and Sansa steeled herself from stepping back. 

In an instant he grabbed her and whirled her around, pinning her against the wall. 

He loomed over her, and Sansa swallowed down a scream. She didn't know what to expect but Robb dropped to his knees before her, his hands circling her tiny waist before he pressed the side of his face into her stomach. She could feel his breath there and for a fleeting second she wondered what his mouth would feel like further down but before she cold feel shame at that, his calloused hands skimmed down her legs over the shift before he crouched down to her feet, his lips kissing the tops while his hands grasped around her ankles.

Sansa could only look down in awe as he worshiped her feet, kissing them with as much fervor as he did her neck and lips. She wanted to reach down but she stayed as she was, trying her best not to collapse on top on him. 

Robb jerked his head up abruptly and Sansa met his gaze. His eyes became darker as he returned to his kneeling position, his hands gripping her now by her hips. She nearly swooned when he leaned in to inhale deeply, never breaking his stare into her, and she realized what he was doing.

He could smell her arousal.

"Robb - please -" What she was pleading for, she didn't honestly know. To touch her, to leave her, to escape, to stay -what was it? She couldn't look away -

"Sansa." His voice was low, her name drifting out of his mouth slow and nearly erotic, and she nearly wept at the sound but she stood mesmerized. "Sansa -"

The clamoring and shouting and stomping of boots startled Sansa out of whatever trance she was in. Her body screamed to want to stay in this moment, to experience these new feelings, but her mind took over, wondering what would happen when the guards would see the Queen In The North in her nightgown barefooted with a prisoner accused of ravaging her and killing Northmen. Frantically she eyed their escape and knew there was no time; the guard dogs stood at attention at the noise and growled.

"Robb, Robb, please get up," she entreated. "Please -"

The guards burst in and the scuffle was brief; storming in from behind was Jon in his shift and robe, his hair loose and messy around his face. Behind him cowered a hapless Jeyne and Sansa shot her a deadly look.

It took only a few heartbeats for Jon to draw a guard's sword and storm into the cell while giving the hand order to hold the guards back. Robb rose slowly as if nothing was amiss but he stepped in front of Sansa, who immediately stepped to the side so Jon could see her.

Jon's anger was plan on his face, his grey eyes nearly black.

"Come outside, Sansa, while I run this prisoner through." His voice seemed less formidable than his gaze.

"No!" Sansa tried to maintain her dignity and authority as she held her head high. Never mind she was standing in a shift covered in dirty stains left by her own brother's hands. "By my command, this man is no longer our prisoner but our...guest. As such he is afforded the courtesy of a bath, warm food, a flask of Dornish wine and a guest solar to sleep."

"This man is accused of high treason against the Queen. By my command, he is to stand trial for violating -"

"He did not violate me, Jon! If you took a moment you would realize he saved me from the men who would have done so!" She stepped towards him. "Search the woods. You will find -"

"We found naught but an abandoned fire and your horse."

"Search harder! The dead cannot walk, can they?" Something like a strangled laugh came from Robb, so odd from the intense man. Sansa doubled her efforts to look queenly." I am Queen In The North and I should not have to state it. My authority over Winterfell and the North is above your own as my consort. Guards! By my command, you are to accommodate this innocent man as I have stated."

She relented a little at the fury in Jon's eyes.

"He is to be kept under house arrest in Robb Stark's old solar for the time being."

Sansa turned to Robb, who was staring into her. The heat between her legs from his gaze would not die, not even in front of Jon.

"Go with them without a fight, please. I shall tend to you in the morning, you have my solemn word. No harm shall come to you. Or me," she added.

She could not bear to look at him and she wanted to shout at everyone that this was Robb Stark, her brother, but she has caused enough chaos for one night. Instead she signaled for the guards to come forward and they did her bidding, leading Robb away. She dared to look at him leaving and he was looking back at her, something indescribable in his eyes.

"You always undermine me in front of everyone," growled Jon, throwing the sword down in disgust."And now you not only undermine me, you embarrass me as well."

"You embarrass yourself, husband." She attempted to cover up her own guilt."It is shameful you cannot see him for who is really is. It's Robb, Jon, or have you already forgotten what your brother looked like? Robb!"

"The man looks very much like Robb, Sansa, I will agree. That does not make him so." He voice broke, became gentle. "I loved Robb too, Sansa. But Robb is gone."

"No, he is here. I know my own brother. He is not an impostor. He is not some greedy opportunist with the right look that came bounding into Winterfell claiming to be Robb and demanding his rightful place as King In The North."

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, but Jon crumbled under them just the same. The anger left his face, replaced by naked regret.

"You know I never cared for the titles, Sansa. I did not want to be King In The North after winning the Battle Of The Bastards. I did not want the Iron Throne when everyone discovered I was a Targaryen. I did not even want to become King consort to you. I would have stayed in the far north. But the North needed me. Well, you needed me. Our marriage had quelled any talks of rebellion and not only are we at peace, you will never be forced or pressured into marrying another stranger who might do you ill. I envied Robb when I was young. I had wondered what it would be like to be Lord of Winterfell, have children. But I would not prevent anyone from having what they are entitled to, or what they fought for."

"Jon -" She fumbled for words. "Jon, will you not join me in bed tonight?" 

"You are still not well, Sansa. The Master said you had suffered a blow to your head and we need our Queen to recover. I am willing to excuse this as some sort of...mistake on your part due to your injury." 

He was still angry, she could see it on his face even in the dim torchlight. But as always, Jon was not about to wear his emotions on his sleeve. He had learned in the past that to do so was to invite others to prey on his weaknesses. And in a moment of her weakness, her invite to their bed was not meant to turn out to be a platonic one. She had a husband and she felt an urge to take him to bed to assuage this strange new feeling in her.

"Jon -" As always, there was some gulf, some rift, between them. She knew he cared about her, loved her, but he always shut her out. They would bicker and disagree in the day but at night their conversations were smooth, even if he remained aloof in bed. Kisses on the cheek and forehead, and the cuddling; they were loving, but it was a chaste love. She understood he was making concessions for her previous experiences which were nothing but traumatic; but she finally had made a genuine effort by inviting him to bed...and he refused her.

"We will deal with this in the morning, Sansa. Go to bed." Normally he would kiss her on the cheek but he turned on his heel, nodding at Jeyne who had been forgotten and was cowering in the shadows. Sansa watched him leave and then turned her frustrations out on Jeyne.

"You little bitch! You deliberately went behind my back -"

"Please, Your Grace, I apologize! But I was so worried! You were not yourself in your solar and I feared something might happen to you. I - I love you with all my heart, you have been my friend and now my Queen. I could not bear it if harm would befall you and I could have prevented it. But - now that I see -"

"Now that you see what, Jeyne?" Sansa held back the urge to have Jeyne beaten. She already suffered so many beatings and rapes in her life, Sansa did not want to add to them.

Jeyne raised widened eyes to her and dropped all sense of titles and propriety as she spoke in a rush.

"He glanced at me when they were dragging him away. That is Robb Stark as sure as I am standing here. That is Robb, Sansa, and I do not know how that is possible."

"I know, Jeyne." Her hand flew to her neck to cover the bite mark where he surely sucked the color to the surface on her pale skin. "I know, and I am going to find out how."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a minute. I apologize and I hope you enjoy the update. Comments are very much appreciated so I can know how I am doing. Thank you very much for reading!


	5. As The Queen Demands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has so far supported my fic. I am amazed at the response I am getting and I thank you for the generous kudos, hits, and comments. I'm nearly speechless!
> 
> Finally a Jon POV and a little Jonsa time. Enjoy!

Jon slammed the guest solar door, throwing off his robe and night shirt and tumbling his body down onto the four-poster bed, yanking the fur coverings up to his waist. Not that it was needed; the hot springs ran the room warm within the walls even as the hearth was pitch dark and even as the fur tickled his chest he was beginning to sweat.

His fingers jaggedly ran through this dark locks and he struggled to maintain some semblance of control, even though it mattered little if he completely lost his handle on his emotions or not, as there was no one around to witness the King In The North in a moment of weakness. He should have gone on a midnight hunt instead of returning to bed to quell his fury and frustration but he did not want the rest of the castle to know Sansa had affected him yet again to the point of needing a means to escape.

She had always goaded him, gotten under his skin and challenged him ever since their reunion at Castle Black, a reunion that seemed so long ago. He struggled to remember them before he took the Black, how she was so sweet and giggly behind her prim exterior whenever she was out of Catelyn and Old Nan's eyesight and earshot. The distant and disdainful Sansa at her proper lessons disappeared as she would squeal girlishly at his and Robb's antics when they played their Knight and Dragon and Fair Lady games. He allowed himself to pretend he was her Knight while he chased her around and held her captive as a fire-breathing Dragon would, keeping her only until her brave rescuer could arrive and sweep her away with his strength and charm. He felt as if he belonged in Winterfell then, allowing himself to dream of a day where she could see him as more than a mere bastard brother to play games with. He wanted the acceptance from her that he always had with Arya, who steadfastly declared him her true brother.

Now, Sansa was a mature woman, a Queen in her own right. And he was also a King. She was no longer his sister, but his cousin, and his wife. The bastard brother who played in secret with his flame-haired sister was no more. Yet when he laid down next to her every night since their hasty ceremony in the godswood, it was easier to think of his sister and not the beautiful woman curling into him with curves and warmth underneath her thin shift, even as he would replay their warm and gentle - if slightly awkward - kiss to seal their marriage in his head when he rested on his pillow and turned to look at her. He had been relieved that there was no bedding ceremony, and that as Sansa was no maiden, no sheets were required to show proof of consummation, but sometimes he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be a true husband to her.

Jon never truly needed the feel of a woman naked beneath him, although his heart had been given to Ygritte, then blindly and foolishly he entangled his life with Daenerys. Both had violent ends and both affected him, and it was not hard to abandon the yearning of a woman's physical love. He accepted it was not his lot in life; that all he was was a fighter, a warrior. It was all he ever knew once he left to take the Black, and now with the wars over and nothing to fight for, he felt out of place, alone, empty.

 _Hollow_.

Marrying Sansa to quiet the unrest of the Lords - _fickle little pompous asses, all of them_ \- well, he did so reluctantly, even as it granted him his boyish dreams and assured him that Sansa was safe. She was the only family left to him, with Bran in King's Landing and a stranger to him, and Arya in Storm's End with Gendry. They were the last of the Starks in the North and when the raven had reached him beyond Hardhome, he could detect the desolation in Sansa's letter. Alone, isolated in Winterfell with only Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick by her side, highborn men beginning to grumble against serving a Queen and not a King, she stated she was looking to take a husband, form an alliance... and Jon could not bear for her to be forced into another marriage. The thought of another Ramsay type in her bed brought him at full speed back to Winterfell.

The North never agreed with his banishment and the celebrations were so abundant they lasted well into a week, the Lords and common folk alike conveniently forgetting his Targ side and lauding him once again as the White Wolf, the King In The North. Although he had secured Sansa's safety and solidified the North, his eyes and ears were open to any threat of war but all remained quiet beyond the reaches of the North. 

He was King In The North again. He was with his family again in his family home.

Yet he only knew unrest. Emptiness. A sense of being trapped.

Now, his frustrations turned to Sansa. Sansa, whom he has always tried to protect, tried to shield from any more horrors or sorrow. Wasn't it the reason he was here with her now? Wasn't she happy with being a queen, with not having to submit to a man, with living in Winterfell? Why in all the Gods names did she feel a need to ride alone in the middle of the night, exposing herself to the very dangers he has ensured she was safe from experiencing? Had he not been told by Podrick about her late night adventure, she would have been raped and either killed or kidnapped, either held for ransom or sold into sexual slavery. 

As it was, she had been beaten, possibly sexually attacked - she refused to submit to a physical exam by the Maester - and several of his guards lost their lives to the man they found holding her.

 _He really did look like Robb_.

Jon threw his arm over his eyes.

 _Robb was dead_.

Sansa's head injuries must have been more severe than anyone had thought, for her to insist that man was her brother. Yes, he had red hair almost like her own; yes, his eyes were blue, but he was obviously alive, and Robb was dead. By all of the accounts, from Arya and Sandor and what was left of the witnesses to the Red Wedding, Robb was dead. Jon did not linger after the man who had Sansa was thrown into the dungeons, for fear he would have killed him before he could even be shackled to the wall. He was tall, muscled, fighting his men with a fierceness and blood lust that no Robb he had known would have had. The stranger was obviously void of speech, a mute. If it were Robb, he would not be roaming the Wolfswood aimlessly and brutalizing Sansa. If Robb were alive, he would have done everything in his power to return to Winterfell. Of that he was sure.

Robb, his brother. Sometimes it still hurt to think of him after all these years. It hurt even worse to have Sansa crying and screaming and holding her attacker's head in her hands to protect him as if it were truly her brother and having to bodily remove her from him.

Her brother would not be found on his knees before her, gripping her waist with his hands. Hands that Sansa released from the shackles.

Jon switched arms. The extra darkness blotted out the faint glimmers of the single torchlight flickering by the door.

He should have gutted the man with his sword and be done with it. Now Sansa demanded he be treated with all honors benefiting a guest. But what made him more angry? That Sansa would go against him publicly over her own attacker, or that the man's filthy hand prints were splattered all over her purely white gown?

Jon's whole body tensed as he heard his solar door creak open and he automatically reached down for Longclaw. Even now his sword never left his bedside, no matter what room he laid his head down in. He abandoned his reflex when he saw the willowy figure shut and bolt the door from the inside; something he had forgotten to do in his anger.

"Sansa," he breathed, sitting up.

He meant to tell her to go back to bed, they would talk in the morning; that she needed her rest as she was still not well from her ordeal and, quite frankly, he was in no mood to start discussions over the man that she imagined was Robb. But it would be futile as she did whatever she pleased despite his wishes -

Jon swallowed hard.

She approached the foot of the bed, framed by the firelight behind her. She was all aglow and pale, her hair spilling around her like flames in reverse. Her face was shrouded in the semi-darkness and she was truly beautiful. He always knew her to be so but this felt oddly different in this moment.

And how different it truly was as she unlaced the ties to her shift, letting it fall to the floor, revealing no small clothes beneath.

Jon's heart quickened along with his cock. His eye could not help but drink in the sight of her, from her dark-pink tipped breasts to the swelling of her hips, the tempting curves of her thighs, and the red triangle between her legs. He startled and jumped like a green boy when she crawled into the bed, her long arms reaching out to tug down the furs that had - so far - hidden his instant reaction to her being exposed to him. She was closer now so he could make out her face; her lips slightly opened, her eyes dark against the dim light. He lost his breath. For how long, he wasn't quite sure but his head started spinning at a dizzying pace.

"San - Sansa -" his voice was not his own; not the way it groaned out against his will as she uncovered him so he was as open and bare as she. "What are you -"

She said nothing and perhaps it was nothing that needed to be said; before he knew what was truly happening she straddled him, her warm hands gripping his cock. He had no time to think or act as he felt her sink down slowly onto his length, her sharp cry filling his ears. He gasped, feeling her arousal - dimly he realized she came to him already wet and wanting - so slick and tight around him and his hands flew back to grip at his pillow, not knowing where else to grasp. She had come to him of her own volition and he could not place his hands on her to guide her to his will; it was her will, her need and he gave her control as she moved with persistent urgency. Jon was near to exploding with every thrust, every gyration, and he attempted to match her every movement.

Sansa leaned in with fingers digging into his chest. Her nails stung as she pushed him all the way down, his head sinking into the pillow. She was so close he could see the faint lines of her scars across her breasts and underneath her arms; a mosaic of faded torment. His fingers moved to trace them and he was shocked when she grappled for his hands and slammed them down into the bed.

"Sansa -"

She crushed her mouth down on him as she fucked him faster, relentless. He wanted to pleasure her, take his time, but he gave in and kissed her back with the pace she allowed; making love to her with the rhythm she chose. Her lips left his far too soon as she reared up, her hair flowing around her, the sweat shimmering off of her skin as she let his hands go to reach down to where they were joined.

He could only watch mesmerized and unbelieving as she rubbed frantically. The slick sounds of their intermingling arousal and her heavy breaths - and his too, no doubt, although he only could hear her - filled the room. He wanted to touch her but feared rejection, feared acceptance, and when she whimpered and he felt her pulsing around him, he could no longer hold back his own release as he spilled in her with a moan of her name sputtering from his lips.

Sansa collapsed down on him and it was then that he allowed himself to wrap his arms around her, to pull her in, feeling her breasts crushing against him, her hair falling like a curtain to close them both in. Instead of resting her head into him she held her neck up, and he could not resist reaching his hand up to sweep her hair to the side to kiss her neck in reassurance and in thankfulness. The light caught the side of her neck. There, by her pulse point, revealed a darkened purplish mark with teeth marks, an unmistakable lover's mark he has seen on others before... a mark he has also put on his own past lovers.

 _Except the teeth marks_.

Jon's brow furrowed and Sansa pulled abruptly away from him so he could not see her face, and before he could completely process it within his mind she disengaged herself from him and scrambled off of the bed. Her warmth leaving his cock left him feeling cold, even as the sweat glistened across his body.

The marks on her neck were not there when she was brought back to the castle.

He watched as she shimmied back into her shift but before she could unbolt the door he was up and over to her in a few long strides, his hand keeping the door shut. He wanted to grab her, shake her, but she had been grabbed enough and shaken by men who would do her harm. She stood, her chest heaving, shaking fingers lacing up the front of her gown.

"He's dead, Sansa. Dead." His voice was low, inadvertently growling. "The Freys killed him with arrows and hacked his head from his body."

She looked at him then, all of her lust fading as she slowly shook her head, something glittering sharp in her eyes. Jon could not help but look at her neck where the she had allowed the man to feast upon her swan-like neck. Marring the alabaster skin. Something pricked hot and angry inside of him even as a thread of fear for her emerged. She was not herself, she was in denial... was she losing her mind? Could he even make her understand what she was seeing was an illusion?

He reached out to clasp her cheeks, leaning in to stare at her.

"They took his headless corpse and paraded it around with Grey Wind's head sewn in place. Then they burned his body and Gods only know what they did with his head. Maybe fed it to the hounds or placed it on a pike to rot. He's gone, Sansa. DEAD."

To his shock she took his face into her own hands and kissed him fervently, leaving him off-guard, his desire igniting again. It was enough time for her to unbolt the door and spirit away, making him suddenly realize he was standing stark naked with the door half-opened.

Jon blinked out into he corridor and there was no sign of Sansa. For a moment he wondered if he had been inside of her at all or if it had just been another one of his heated dreams of her. But after slowly shutting the door and returning to bed, his hand glided down over his cock, still saturated with her juices, and he knew it to be true.

__

He closed his eyes, recalling not their quick coupling but the moment before she stole out of his solar.

__

He saw the look in her eyes when he bluntly reminded her that Robb was dead. 

__

She knew it to be true that he didn't believe a word of what he said to her.

__


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Finally I could update.  
> Just a note: I am fusing book and show for some things. Robb was married to Jeyne Westerling in this fic, not Talisa. The Hound is alive for this fic. Harwin, a member of the Brotherhood Without Banners and a former household guard of Winterfell, will come into play briefly.

"Your Grace?"

Sansa looked up from her scroll at Brienne, standing tall and formidable as always. She motioned for her sworn sword to approach, trying to relax her face into a small smile as her head throbbed and her heart raced. Brienne gave a curt, formal bow before presenting her with another scroll.

"This one arrived moments ago. From Riverrun."

"Thank you," she murmured, gently extending her pale hand to retrieve the parchment. Brienne stood at attention but her face held some worry. Sansa has had so much experience reading facial expressions and it was easy to detect the emotion in the towering woman's face."What is it, Brienne?"

"Are you well?" 

It was a simple question but an honest answer would not be so direct.

"Yes, well enough, thank you. I'm -"

 _I'm leaking the seed of my brother-cousin as I am speaking. I acted like a complete hoyden in the middle of the night because I was wet and aching because my brother made me so and I did not know how to handle it. I craved it, wanted it, took it like a thief in the night with no thought for Jon's feelings. My head aches but between my legs throbs even more so and I cannot - or will not - understand it. No one believes my brother is alive but I am seeking answers and validation from whatever source is in my power to contact and I know you all think I am insane. You ask if I am well but what you really mean to ask is if I am of sound mind_ -

" - just tired, really. I've been through such an ordeal and not yet recovered."

Brienne relaxed in her Stark armor. Due to her own insistence she always adorned the protective gear unless she was dining. 

"Yes, we are all worried about you. His Grace especially. This morning in the courtyard he was readying to hunt and inquired if I had seen you. He missed you when breaking his fast."

"I tarried late in bed. As to be expected due to recovery." Quick to divert the subject away and dismiss her right hand Ser, Sansa forced her old charming smile. "Was Tormund in the Courtyard with His Grace?"

"Aye." Brienne blushed a light crimson."That man is quite burly and...forward."

"He fancies you and I daresay you fancy him," Sansa teased, keeping her voice playful even as she did not feel like teasing."You could throw the poor man a few scraps of hope, you know. He has quite the affection for you -"

"May I have your leave, Your Grace?" Brienne shifted, coughing. 

Sansa nodded and Brienne bowed, a small whisp of a smile ghosting her face before pivoting and leaving. Brienne was not so indifferent to the large red man and to be honest, they would make a smart match. Before the Wars Sansa might have been aghast at such a pairing, but with all everyone has been through, her adherence to rules concerning the matters of the heart did not apply to her mind anymore. Of course with royalty it was different; political marriages, such as hers and Jon's, were still a necessity. But she would not disdain a marriage made out of love or attraction just because the stations of the lovers involved were unequal. The Wars had taught her life was too short to be unhappy in forced or societal marriages.

With Brienne gone, her eyes dropped down to her opened scroll. The writing was coarse, crass and uneven and spelled incorrectly in places but it was from Ser Sandor Clegane, so it was excusable. The man still intimidated her after all these years but he was an excellent scout, acting as a free agent. He either preferred to live in the winter town, spending a lot of time at the Smoking Log. He complained about the colder weather but he vowed never to set foot in Kings Landing again, no matter who held control.

_Will hunt down fuckin' Harwin and drag his arse back to Winterfell for a song, Little Bird. Just hope that prick is still alive_.

Sansa ignored the omission of "Your Grace" as a lack of social graces and slid the parchment to the side to break the Tully seal on the scroll, sighing. She had not associated with Uncle Edmure much but Roslin was a lovely addition to the family..and fertile as well. Five children they spawned in quick succession, three with the Tully looks and one favoring their mother. For a moment a sharp longing pierced her and she shifted in her seat, feeling the dampness against her small clothes.

 _My Dearest Niece_ ,  
_Lady Tully and I accept your invitation and will be arriving in Winterfell as soon as we are able. Lady Tully has been brought to bed of a bonny boy and cannot travel as of yet_.  
_As to your inquiry, there have long been whispers over the years that everyone at Riverrun has dismissed as mere fables from the common folk. To the best of my recollection, some say a feral warrior has stalked the Riverlands, preying upon thieves and rapers and turncoats. A masked man seeking vengeance with eyes of ice and hair like flames, bound in the rags of his kills. Truly a tale made to frighten evildoers in our lands_ -

Sansa rolled her eyes and tossed the scroll down.

Did her uncle not stop to think for maybe just one moment the man may be real? And how common was red eyes and blue eyes in a seasoned fighter?

"Your Grace?"

Jeyne appeared in the doorway, small and unassuming, her pretty hair hanging in a plait draped over her shoulder. Her large eyes seemed even more so and Sansa watched as she wrung her hands, the tip of her pinky finger missing. No doubt a punishment from her slaver in the brothel. 

"Come in, Jeyne." Sansa noted her swallowing as she approached.

"I wanted to thank you for the red velvet material. It will make a lovely gown."

Sansa smiled. It was her apology gift from the way she has treated her last night. It had been an offering from Essos. Velvet was a rare and expensive commodity. The color did not suit her and reminded her of Lannister colors, but Jeyne has no such prejudices and red complimented her darker hair and eyes and complexion.

"You are welcome. You will need one for the upcoming celebration for Lord Stark's return."

"Oh." Her eyes flitted down to her clasped hands. "Lord Stark is the reason I am here. He - um - he does not want his bath." Her scarred nose wrinkled up. "He needs one. He smells so foul."

"You attended him?" Sansa stood, her fingers tapping on the table. 

"I entered his room with guards, Your Grace, with wash rags and towels and a change of clothes. His Grace had offered some clothing but I was sure they would not fit. Lord Stark is quite tall and... well, I managed to find clothes I believe more fitting and I've already sent orders for our tailor to arrive and measure him."

Jeyne's eyes darted over to the wall to stare into the stone as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Sansa knew immediately she was wanting to speak of something but was holding back.

"So he refused your towels?" Sansa prompted her gently even as her head pounded. "What happened?"

"Lord - Lord Stark, he - I don't know. He called me Jeyne. It was the only thing he said before he - um - he bent over and kissed me on the top of my head."

"He kissed you?" She could not keep the hitch out of her tone.

"Aye. Like a father would a child. The guards pulled me away and beat him down, although I tried to protest the treatment. They - well, Lord Stark was chained at the ankles and hands, they - they gagged him! It was terrible. I told them to stop but they shoved me out the door and locked it."

"You should not have been told to wait on him in the first place," retorted Sansa, angry that Jeyne was in such a position, angry that Robb touched her, angry at the guards."I will need the names of the guards, and need to know who it is that commanded you to serve Lord Stark. They will be punished for their lack of care."

Jeyne's now downcast eyes and bit lip told her immediately who gave the order.

"It was His Grace, wasn't it?" She muttered it, clenching her jaw."How could he have been so thoughtless? No matter. The guards will be punished for handling you."

"Please, do not be harsh with them. They just reacted to what was happening. Lord Stark was not rough or mean to me." Jeyne rushed on her words."He did not hurt me. I - I was shocked he knew my name. No stranger would know my name. I am a nobody."

Sansa noticed the strain and sorrow in her voice and cautiously walked over to her, the only sound in the room the faint clicking of her heeled slippers. She only attempted a feather touch to the top of her head, where she envisioned Robb had kissed her. A pang hit her heart. She did not recognize or give credence to what it truly was and pushed it down as she spoke.

"You are Jeyne Poole. Longtime friend and lady-in-waiting to the Queen In The North. You are a survivor of the wicked ways of evil men."

Jeyne bowed her head and Sansa swept past her.

"Take the remainder of the day and do as you like," she offered, accepting the woman's smile and thank you. "I will speak to Jon and it will not be known how I came upon his orders."

 

________________________

 

Sansa squared her shoulder and lifted her chin as she approached Robb's old solar, left undamaged by the battle against the dead. Three guards stood at attention and she lifted an eyebrow as they bowed their heads in greeting.

 _The three of you would be dead if Robb was not chained like a rabid animal and barred in his room_ , she thought viciously. _I have seen what he can do to more than the lot of you and I would not lift a finger to stop him_.

"You are all dismissed," she ordered icily, noting each one in turn."Hand over the keys to the chains and you are to remain in your quarters until you are summoned again."

They knew better than to protest their Queen's orders and promptly obeyed her commands. She grasped the keys and unbolted the outside; a makeshift lock hastily built to keep the dangerous prisoner confined. She would remember to demand the locksmith remove it later today. For a moment she held her breath and her heart started to hammer furiously in her chest, before she slowly creaked the door open.

His room was near to as it had been when she departed for King's Landing all those years ago; a simple room, with the large bed covered in furs facing a fiery hearth. A table off to the side flanked by two chairs and a plain armoire completed it. There was a small window overlooking the Courtyard which Robb now stood in front of in the stoic pose she first beheld him in the Wolfswood overlooking the stream. Well, as stoic as it could be with chains locking his hands behind him and at his feet. He did not turn to face her or even flinch as she shut the door and bolted it from the inside. 

The still steaming bath sat near the fireplace. Towels and rags, along with a scrub brush and soap laid on top of the pile. Jeyne had placed the makeshift clean outfit on the bed near the bottom post.

She could smell him from where she stood. 

_Blood. Dirt. Sweat_.

It did not phase her in the least. It sharpened something else in her.

Instinctively she smoothed down her simple dark grey gown. 

"Robb? It's Sansa." Reflectively she touched her neck where he has marked her so savagely, so passionately, while her other hand gripped the keys. Memories to make her legs feel weak and break down her resolve to be commanding. Confusion and guilt set in."I am here to free you for the second time in less than a day."

Her attempts to jest were feeble and she tiptoed forward. Just as in the Wolfswood he did not turn to her, and although she braced herself for it, when she reached him to unlock the keys at his wrists and feet, he did not make a move towards her or even look her way, still staring out into the Courtyard. All business now, she went about her task. He seemed to barely breathe.

Sansa tossed the shackles and keys to the floor and stepped away a few paces.

"You need a bath. You smell worse than the time Theon pushed you into the pig's pen." She deliberately evoked a memory from their late childhood. "You thought it was so funny to chase me down and hug me, leaving me with a dirty dress and messy hair."

He turned then, his eyes meeting hers and she steeled herself to continue as he covered the paces separating them. He was so close now she could feel his breath on her. Again. She refused to look away.

"I didn't really mind the mess. Not really. Your hug was worth it and the dirt..dirt always can be washed away, can it not, and being clean always makes one feel better -"

She thought he would embrace her but instead he waltzed around her and headed towards the round tub. She could only watch in pure shock as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his back addled with terrible looking scars - arrows, she thinks dimly, or swords, or both - and before she could recover from the sight, he proceeded to fumble with the laces on his dark breeches and drop trou right before her eyes, kicking them aside. He wore no small clothes and Sansa blushed furiously, not knowing quite where to look but not able to really want to look elsewhere except at his toned buttocks. She may still be leaking what was left of Jon's cum but all the Gods would never forgive her for the new wetness forming and she instantly forgave herself for being so disgustingly improper with her own brother.

Robb sank into the water, his biceps flexing as he gripped the sides of the tub. At least he was submersed up to his waist and Sansa drew in a breath to approach him. He just sat there even as she stood next to the pile of towels. Without knowing how she was doing it, she picked up the small bar of soap and a rag and handed it to him. His hands remained clutched on the sides of tub, so tightly Sansa could see white. Now that he was partially covered, she regained her nerve and dipped the cloth in the water before rubbing the bar into it. Making sure the rag was saturated, she dropped the soap in the water on purpose.

"Here." It came out too soft, too weak. "Here!" She tried to sound commanding. The tone brought his eyes up to hers as he tilted his head up to take her in from her standing position. His nostrils flared and his chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath through his nose. His jaw clenched tight and it seemed he was building up to an anger she did not understand. 

Frustrated, she slapped down the cloth onto his chest, the wet slapping noise echoing in the room. She refused to kneel beside him and she wanted him to wash himself. There was no possible way she would give her own brother a bath. For a moment she imagined running the cloth over his muscles, over his chest hair, up around his neck, and -

"He fucked you."

Sansa jerked her hand away and the cloth fell into the now soapy water as the growl was low, accusing, angry and she stared down into his blazing eyes. It was a full sentence, the first he's said, but the realization of it was pale in comparison to the knowledge that he knew she and Jon had sex. How did he know? How could he possibly -

Of course. He could smell her. Just as he did last night.

Shame and embarrassment filled her and flushed her cheeks but then it turned instantly to defiance. It was as if he was accusing her of something, when it was only natural that a husband and wife have relations. She was married. Why would she not lie with her husband? Besides, it was his fault, wasn't it? He was the one who had awakened something inside of her, something she did not know how to handle, and the manifestation of it was to take from Jon what he would never have willingly given without her demanding it.

"No," she managed to squeak out. " _I_ fucked _him_."

Before she could even blink or feel contrite about her retort, he sprang to his feet in a blur of wet, naked skin, picked her up, and down they both sank into the tub. The water was warm but Sansa started to shriek from surprise; a sound swallowed by Robb's mouth over hers. The kiss was fierce yet she melted into his demanding lips, closing her eyes in euphoria even as his hands reached under the water, spreading her legs apart and attempting to scrunch her skirts up to her waist. She meant to push him away but her arms flung around his neck instead as she dimly heard the sound of fabric tearing underneath the water.

 _Her small clothes_.

It mattered not what was pulled apart or submerged in water; the only thing in her world was Robb's fingers sliding inside of her. She did cry out then; her fingernails digging into the nape of his neck, her teeth now the ones returning the favor and biting into his lip. It was a heady rush to taste the rust, to hear him groan, the feel his cock hard and pressing into her up against her belly as his fingers swiftly fucked into her, the palm of his hand slamming against her already swollen folds. 

Sansa could feel the tightness coiling in her belly as her cunt clenched around his fingers. How many were inside of her she did not know, or care; she was stretched full and there was something he was hitting inside of her, something making her whole body tremble and her legs started to shake violently. She didn't have to move, didn't have to gyrate to produce the pleasure; all she had to do was hold on for dear life and chase the feeling.

His free hand snaked up to hold her by the back of her neck, a grip so firm she couldn't move if she even wanted to and he wrenched free from their frenzied kisses only to dive into her neck, biting and licking and re-discovering the spot where he had marked her before. It was as if he were truly tasting, devouring her skin as she surrendered completely to the orgasm that seized upon her with such violence she could feel her secretions pour out of her in a torrid stream even under the water.

She did start to cry out and Robb's hand left her neck to clasp over her mouth. It was then that she opened her eyes to lock stares; his was the heated glare of an entity she did not know. It didn't matter as he fucked her madly through her orgasm; a climax that seemed to never end but crash over her in several waves of pure bliss. Dizzy, spinning, euphoric, her muffled cries belied the deafening pleasure coursing through her entire being. Her relief from her actual release was to scrape her fingers down his neck, feeling the skin peeling off under her fingernails as they dragged down and across her shoulder blades. Robb did not even flinch at the pain she must have inflicted; he only looked upon her as an wolf about to devour his prey.

The last of her pulsations subsided and his fingers slowed but remained buried inside as Sansa retracted her nails from his skin. His hand still covered her mouth and now that her orgasm was over, guilt and regret started to gnaw at her brain. The water seemed cold and she shivered, refusing to acknowledge her body still craved more.

"Sansa," he growled. "My Sansa -"

She wrenched her mouth enough to bare her teeth and bite him as hard as she could, catching him off guard long enough to rise, disengaging herself from his fingers and ignoring the sense of emptiness as she clumsily leaped from the bath, water from her skirts sloshing everywhere. She nearly fell from her trembling legs but Robb sat in the water and looked up at her. Even through the now dank waters she could see his erection jutting up intimidatingly... yet he sat there as if he did not just have his fingers buried inside of his own sister. There was no guilt or shame on his face...only a look as if he would eat her alive if she would let him.

"You are not my brother," she gasped, struggling for control, for some moral indignation to come through in a queenly way while watching as he narrowed his eyes at her, his kiss-swollen, bleeding lips forming a thin line of displeasure. "I - I don't know who you truly are."

In response, Robb - or the man who wore Robb's face - lifted his bleeding hand up to his lips and his tongue flicked out to lick the blood trickling from her bite while his stare penetrated her.

Sansa swallowed as her cunt betrayed her, warming inadvertently at the sight and then instantly begging for his touch as he bent down to the water, his nose nearly touching the surface as he inhaled, a sensuous smile forming on his bruised and bloodied lip.

"Who are you?" It was a whisper, one that was left unanswered as Robb slunk down to submerge himself into the water, coming back up with the bar of soap to work on his hair. It was unassuming but erotic and Sansa stumbled away, fearful of her desire and want. _Her need_.

She did the worst thing she could in that moment; she turn and fled...and bolted the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to add a note to say thank you very much for supporting this fic! The response has been very encouraging and I will try to do better with updates. I have the complete story in an outline and I just need to get down to business. Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

Jon took long strides into the castle, stripping off his gloves as he walked while behind him a fine buck was being carried. Warmth spread across his neck as he made his way into the kitchens. As soon as he halted, some young lad was unfastening his cloak. The youth had long dark hair and a spindly build and suddenly he thought of Satin, who had chosen to remain at Castle Black, and a small twinge of homesickness struck him, which he promptly brushed away. It was strange to long for the cold, snowy barren land, now that warmer temperatures were appearing in Winterfell.

The clatter and chatter in the kitchens was overwhelming but Jon could stand the silence of his room no better. At least here he could focus and occupy his thought process on something less personal, such as overseeing the butchery of the meat for their dinner or speaking to the cooks about the additional preparations for their meal. Sansa always chided him for attempting the more menial duties of the castle and told him more kingly affairs needed tending to, but in this time of peace and finished reconstruction, there was really very little to do that required much governing. It wasn't really Jon's strong suit anyway, acting like he was royalty. He never adjusted to his true heritage and preferred to keep it buried. He was never a Targ but he was entirely a Stark, and of course in the North it was best to focus on the latter.

"Where is the Queen?" He couldn't help but inquire to everyone about the whereabouts of Sansa.

"She has gone to her rooms to change, Your Grace." 

Jeyne stepped forward, diminutive and pale, with a small smile on her face.

"Changing? And you are not with her?" 

"No, Your Grace. She only needed my help with the lacings and she sent me away. She had graced me with having the rest of day off to do as I please, but the change was not planned and she needed some assistance."

"I see." Jon was puzzled but didn't ask anything more. He was straining to hear her thin voice above the merriment.

"I - I can fetch her for you, if you'd like. I just left her." 

Sweet Jeyne. Jon strained to recall her before he was sent to the Wall, a pretty little thing with lush brown curls, giggling with Sansa and sometimes a little haughty. She was but a shadow of who she once was... but weren't they all? 

A tender feeling swept over him and he crooked his arm with a little bow as he offered her assistance as a gentleman should, not as a king would command.  
"Even better, why don't I let you accompany me to her solar? It would save Her Grace a walk and I am past due for a conversation with her."

Jeyne timidly accepted his offer with a curtsy, her spindly arm curling around so lightly he could not feel it under his tunic. She kept her head slightly down as they left the kitchens to turn down a long corridor while the voices faded until there was nothing but the plodding of his boots and the light tapping of her slippers. Jon was never entirely comfortable in small talk or in the solo company of any woman, not even someone as passive of Jeyne, and he cleared his throat several times while failing at some congenial form of banter. Ask him to swing a sword, or hunt, or give orders and he could comply...ask him to engage a woman and he would always feel like a complete fool. For all his uncomfortable feelings, it also gave him a sense of normalcy, a throwback to who he had been before being sent to the wall. Even then he could not find the words to speak around Jeyne, leaving the smooth and flirtatious speeches to Robb while he stood like a dolt, feeling inferior.

"That was a fine buck, Your Grace. Were you the one who struck the final blow?"

"Um, yes, I was, thank you." Jon was temporarily surprised, and nothing truly shocked him anymore. Well, besides Sansa's recent late-night visit. "Please, call me Jon. You do not need to stand on ceremony with me."

"You are my King, Your Grace." 

Jon nodded but said nothing. He was secretly impressed with Jeyne's defiance to his wish, thinking her mind had been completely broken and she always acquiesced to everyone's wishes. That she would refuse to call him by his name was more than just an insistence to propriety and respect. Jeyne was not entirely lost.

They reached the solar he shared with Sansa - Eddard and Catelyn's quarters, where sometimes he lay with Sansa cuddling up against him in sleep and he wondered if their ghosts looked down on him in condemnation - and Jeyne slipped away from him to wait by his side.

"Thank you, Jeyne, please enjoy the rest of the day. It is beautiful outside. Strange to say that after our Long Winter, but please, take some time to enjoy the fresh air."

She curtsied gracefully and left while Jon knocked hesitantly on the door. He heard her order to come in and he did so quietly, closing the door behind him and very taken aback by what he saw.

She had her back towards him for a moment while she swept her long locks into a low ponytail and tied with a small piece of lace. She was dressed in men's breeches, a dark butternut color, and a white shirt that he knew was his own, as it was oversized and rolled up at the wrists. She wore her riding boots and almost looked like a child masquerading in her father's clothes... or she looked exactly like Arya when she would run about in boy's clothes because gowns were such a hindrance to her learning her fighting skills -

"I hope my sword is light -"

Sansa turned around to face him, her hands resting on her hips. Disappointment and then something like guilt flashed in her dark blue eyes. Around her neck she wore a thick choker, a simple band of grey, and it disturbed him because she knew why.

"You look like Arya off to train. Or like Asha Greyjoy ready to do battle on the seas." It feel out in an almost belittling tone. Deep down, something else stirred but he ignored it.

"I thought you were Ser Podrick. I asked him to help me learn how to handle a sword. Ser Brienne has also agreed, but she is indisposed at the moment. I believe she is with Tormund."

"She would be wasting time there." It was easy to talk about his big friend than it was about the matter at hand.

"Yes, well, she wouldn't be if he would just stay in the North for good. I gave him the Dreadfort as a reward for his loyalty and bravery. He has never set foot in it and prefers that wasteland that lies beyond Castle Black."

"It is not a wasteland, Sansa." He couldn't take his eyes from her. "What is this? I have not spoken to you since -" he faltered.

"This is me wanting to learn how to defend myself. I know, it might seem so strange to you since I didn't learn for the Wars. Well, maybe it is high time."

"It just surprised me, is all. I've never seen you in men's breeches before."

"No, you are shocked that I would take on such a manly thing, isn't that what you are thinking? It's not so much about my appearance and more about how the concept is something that you cannot fathom. You don't even blink at Arya, but with me you are uncomfortable, aren't you?"

"I did not say that." He shifted uncomfortably. "I only meant to tell you, our hunting expedition was a success. We will have fresh venison tonight."

"Will Robb?"

"You mean...our prisoner?"

"When I was in the cell I noticed he is not being fed. Now that he is back in his old room and cleaned up, is he allowed to have actual food? Or do you want to keep him weak?"

"I did not order -"

"Well neither did I, but it came from someone." Her chin jutted up."I will give the orders he is to have whatever we have at our table. Unlike you, I won't have Jeyne wait on him. That was a poor choice, Jon. I don't know what you were thinking."

"I was thinking that he seemed receptive to her. You believe he is truly Robb, so why are you so concerned? Robb would not harm a hair on her head."

"He touched her."

Jon's hand immediately grasped Longclaw's pommel.

"Oh please. He kissed the top of her head, is all. Still I do not approve. Jeyne does not like the contact of men. How was Robb supposed to know that? The last time he was around her she was a flirtatious thing with him and he ate it up, of course."

Jon thought about her arm wrapped around his but said nothing.

"She is not to be in his presence without you or me there, do you understand?"

"Your Grace?" A soft shuffling and respectable tone made them both look at the doorway. Podrick stood holding a sword while he own remained sheathed, looking ready to spar.

"Yes, Ser Podrick, let me grab my cloak." She turned away again to retrieve her grey cloak trimmed in white fur that had laid across their bed.

"Wait, Sansa." Jon stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "We still need to talk about what happened last night."

"Nothing happened last night. What is there to discuss?" She looked at him oddly.

"You are not yourself. Not since you were attacked." He knew Podrick, if he could hear anything, would not speak of it but still, he forced himself to remain calm, quiet. He crept in closer. "You came to me last night -"

"Winterfell needs an heir. What else should you expect when you marry the Queen? I took the initiative that you could not. My time waiting on men's decisions has long past." She moved to pull her cloak on with a flourish. "We will talk later. I have my lesson now. Ser Podrick, lead the way."  
If she had slapped him in the face it would have been more kind.

Rather than argue or stop her, he let her go while he gritted his teeth and squeezed Longclaw so tightly it hurt. No woman ever got under his skin like she did. Not even Ygritte.

He glanced at their bed, recalling many nights of lying comfortably in each others' arms, talking politics or discussing renovations to Winterfell. Or remembering how he would wake up in the middle of the night to find her snuggled in, sleeping soundly, feeling the curve of her against him. Maybe tonight he would return to their bed, maybe then they could properly talk about what was going on, with the darkness shielding their faces and making them more honest and bold.

He sighed even as a muscle worked in his cheek and he stepped over to the bed to sit on it, his fingers absentmindedly skimming over the covers.  
Maybe he resented her not asking him to train her. He was a far more seasoned fighter than Ser Podrick who was a mere novice in comparison. After all they had been through, after he secured her crown by becoming her husband, she could not even think to ask him for help in this. It was a small thing but an important one. He understood how she would want to learn some skills after what she had just gone through, but she looked to someone inferior to be her guide.

 _Winterfell needs an heir. I took the initiative that you could not_. 

He knew why she has suddenly changed. Why she was acting out. It had nothing to do with her traumatic experience deep in the Wolfswood.

The reason was just down the hall.

Jon jumped from the bed and stormed out of the solar, stalking down the corridor to Robb's solar, where two guards stood at attention. The outside lock was secured but it took only one look from Jon for them to unlock it and let him in, while he swept in and banged the door behind him.

The man who wore Robb's face sat in Robb's old high-backed chair before the fireplace, even though there was nothing lit. He didn't even bother to look around but stared pensively into nothing as Jon noticed his hair looked clean and he was wearing fresh clothes. Even his boots had been cleaned and polished. His wrists and ankles were free from shackles but he was unarmed and Jon still had a grip on Longclaw as he boldly approached. It was only when Jon came within arm's reach and spoke Robb's name with an authoritative tone that he turned his head. His beard was still scruffy and long but his face was clean. At least the bath was successful. The sapphire eyes seemed dull. Dead.

"Did you lay hands upon Jeyne Poole, the Queen's lady-in-waiting? It is a grievous offense, one that could be punishable by death." 

He didn't expect the muted man to answer but he did.

"Yes." Simple, to the point, and strangely intimidating.

"I could have the guards seize you for treason and throw you back into the dungeon cell." The threat didn't even make him blink as he stared up at him. "The Queen's affection for Jeyne is well known and she will not let this slight remain unanswered."

Jon paused for a moment, faltering at the non-response. Was he feeble-minded? Did he not comprehend that Jon could send him to die? For a wild moment Jon imagined running him through and being rid of him. Yet he wore Robb's face. Robb was dead. Wasn't he? Even if it were actually him, would he not be able to say it? Why could he not? And what would be his story? What -

The thick silence was broken by the faint sound of swords clanking, followed by a female voice shouting and laughing.

The man bolted from his chair and Jon inadvertently stepped backwards and drew his sword as a reflex, but it was for nothing since the man completely disregarded him and strode to the window to peer out into the courtyard, his back straight but the palms of his hands slamming up against the glass. Maybe he was mistaken, but Jon could swear he heard a low growl, something near to what Ghost did if someone other than Jon or Sansa came too close to his dinner. His eyes were transfixed to the outside and although Jon stood rooted where he stood, he knew to what the tall man was making guttural noises at.

Or, rather, to whom.

Anger flooded him, taking the man's obvious feral interest in Sansa as a personal offense and he rushed in his direction, seeing nothing but the marks on Sansa's neck as he approached, fully intending to take his head from his broad shoulders. The man turned, baring his teeth and somehow managing to avoid the strike with a swiftness Jon couldn't even comprehend as he felt his wrist being snapped. Longclaw dropped to the floor as Jon stumbled and fell backwards. Before he could regain his footing, the man had grabbed the sword from the floor and had it pointed at Jon's neck. Rather than close his eyes to his fate, Jon looked up in defiance. The man's eyes were no longer dull but glowing with life.

To Jon's surprise, the man chuckled deep, throaty - as if he hadn't done so in years - before tossing the sword to the floor.

"The Queen needs her Kings."

At that moment, hearing those words, Jon knew he was looking at Robb Stark, Lord Of Winterfell, his brother and cousin.

The King In The North.


End file.
